


The Doodle of Dorian Gray

by nikkisunshine



Category: The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Library, Basil Hallward deserved better, Fluff, M/M, honestly its just cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22193791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkisunshine/pseuds/nikkisunshine
Summary: Basil Hallward is an introverted college student studying a major he hates. He lives through daydreams and his art, but they start to become all too real the moment that he talks to the cute library assistant.
Relationships: Dorian Gray/Basil Hallward
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	1. Didn't Mean to Stare So Hard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [manicmagicat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manicmagicat/gifts).



> This is for my friend @manicmagicat with whom I've shared many a frantic text freaking out over this book!!! I hope ya like it, Cat! :') Also, this is dedicated to Oscar Wilde. I do not have a tenth of the talent he possesses, but I hope I do his characters well ♡ just want to give them the happy ending they deserve! :')

Everytime Basil Hallward had a break from classes in a major that he couldn’t stand, he could be found doodling in the library.

He felt safe there, in that ancient, palatial building in the heart of campus that always seemed aglow with an energy of quiet genius. Walking into the library felt like stepping into his own brain at his most creative and content state. It always served as wonderful inspiration for the art that he spent every free moment creating.

But the ambiance was only part of the reason that he liked coming to the library. In addition to being the perfect setting for his art, it was also where he found his muse. He just about fainted when he first saw the tall, blonde library assistant. He was positively radiant, like the sun trailed behind him wherever he went. He had golden hair, storm gray eyes, and lips of sweet rose. Basil thought he was the most beautiful man he’d seen his life.

One day, the assistant caught Basil’s eyes upon him, and he walked up with his crisp polo shirt branded with the university logo and politely asked him if he needed any assistance finding a book. Basil’s attention fell from the gossamer clouds of his daydreams and shattered. Every coherent thought left his head. He had never stood so near to him before. He could see every eyelash, faint freckles dotting his nose, and his clean-cut fingernails on hands clasped professionally and rather awkwardly in front of him. The sweet, clean smell of his soap filled his nose and short-circuited his mind.

“Oh-ah-um no I’m good, I think” he sputtered. 

A small look of confusion rippled across his face, “You don’t need any help?”

The gears in Basil’s head began to form some semblance of thought. _Needing help is the only possible explanation for you staring at him, dingus_ , he thought suddenly. “Oh- um- wait yeah, actually maybe?” he said meekly in a mousy voice. “Imeanifitsnottoomuchtrouble, ofcourse”

The boy smiled at him. Although it seemed like an expression of pity, there was nothing but kindness in his eyes. “No worries at all, it's my job,” he said kindly. “Now what book do you need help finding?”

“Textbook. For history” he blurted out suddenly.

“Ok, what course?”

Basil had not thought this far in advance. “103?” he said, crossing his fingers that this class truly existed.

Comprehension dawned on the boy’s handsome face. “Oh, Ancient Greece!” he said brightly. “We had someone come in here the other day looking for it!” He began to walk spiritedly towards a bookshelf and Basil had to jog a little bit to keep up with his long legs and graceful gait. 

“I think it's up around here,” He said, as he scanned the shelf. “Ah, there it is,” he said, looking at a thick and rather dull-looking book perched on the top shelf.

“Do you need me to get a ladder for you?” Basil asked, wringing his hands nervously. “I’ll ask for one, be right back,” he said as he began to jog towards the help desk.

“No need,” he said, elegantly unfurling his arm and standing on his toe-tips to sweep it off the shelf. He presented it so smoothly to Basil that he thought he was going to swoon. 

He gingerly took it from his grasp. “Thank you” he muttered shyly.

Instead of walking away, the boy looked at him intensely, curiously. 

Basil tensed up. He felt like he was 9 again, standing in front of the x-ray machine as it took pictures of his broken collarbone, but also ribs, his lungs, his heart. He felt like everything inside him was on display again, and he scarcely dared breathe. 

The boy’s curiosity seemed to resolve into an easy smile. “I’m Dorian by the way. Dorian Gray” he said, holding out a hand.

Basil took it uneasily. “Basil Hall-Hallward” he stuttered, a blush rising to his face.

Dorian smiled. “It was really nice to meet you, Basil. I hope I see you around here again,” he said politely.

“Uh-yeah! I do too! I mean yeah, I’ll be there soon. There? Here. I come here a lot anyway…” he rambled, trailing off and looking at the ground.

Dorian laughed and snorted, some warmth passing through his composed facade. He somehow looked more human. “Well I’ll see you then,” he said, crinkling his nose in a grin and walking back to his desk.

Basil looked at the book in his hands. _The_ _Mythology of Ancient Greece_. He held it tightly to his chest and didn’t want to let go.


	2. Him.

Basil sat down at the desk that he always worked at when he went into the library: a single desk hidden in the maze of books. Settling into that well-worn seat and cracking open his sketchbook provided passage into his own imagination, always thrilling and never quite the same.

He had been reading the book that Dorian had given to him. Every myth seemed to bring him to life. From the pages of the stories, Basil saw flashes of his sunlit hair, upturned eyes, and full lips appearing on the different faces of heroes and gods of antiquity. He drew Dorian as radiant Apollo and even pictured him as the lover Paris. But of course, Basil could never stand a chance against Helen of Troy.

Although he knew it impossible, he secretly dreamed of Dorian as the swift-footed warrior whose truth had been obscured under the gauzy censorship of the ages. Achilles’ romance with Patroclus was typically softened into a palatable tale of friendship, but the dusty textbook from the library held nothing back. The words summoned feelings sharp and fresh, cutting deep across the bloodline of passion. It was a love that Basil could feel, even taste, and he felt inexplicably compelled by this story.

He opened his sketchbook and began to draw, letting the subtle shades of the story imbue the flat, gray graphite with life. He laid out a sketch of Achilles looking softly at Patroclus, who lay beside him. He began to add shading and more detail, laying in Dorian’s straight nose and dark eyelashes.

He had drawn Achilles in battle before, his face impassive and his armor impenetrable, but as beautiful as he was, Basil was done with drawing statues. He wanted to capture the true Achilles, whose undoing was not his heel, but his heart.

He was so entranced in the magic of his creation that he didn’t notice someone walking up to him.

“Your art’s getting better and better,” a familiar voice said.

Basil was pulled out of his reverie and looked up at the smirking face of Henry Wotton.

“Harry!” Basil called, scrambling up to give him a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“I go here now!” he said, pulling up a chair and propping up his feet on the desk.

“You transferred from community?”

“Yup,” He said, popping the p. He picked up Basil’s sketchbook and frowned slightly. “Who’s this dude you drew yourself with?”

“Wha- I didn’t draw myself”

“This guy looks an awful lot like you, man,” he said, squinting at Patroclus. “Like actually. You captured the wavy hair and big doe eyes perfectly. Ooh are you drawing yourself boyfriends now?”

Basil blushed. “Please shut up” he said, wrenching the drawing back.

“It’s good though, I like it. Whoever he is, he’s lucky to have your attention,” Henry said kindly, his gaze flicking to the notebook once more before focusing on something behind Basil.

“Hey man,” Henry called, nodding a greeting to someone behind Basil, who turned around to see Dorian walking up to them, grinning.

“Hey dude,” he said in a casual voice that greatly contrasted with his ironed slacks and impeccable button-down. He gave Henry some kind of monstrous knuckle bump/handshake combination before he saw Basil. “Oh,” he said, his eyes going wide and he straightened up. “Hi, Basil” he said awkwardly, clasping his hands together. “You guys…know eachother?” He asked, cocking his head to one side and frowning.

“Yeah our moms work together, we’ve basically been friends since conception” Henry said, answering for Basil, whose mouth hung open in stupid shock. “Dorian, man, have you started the essay yet?”

Basil finally found his voice “Wait how do you know each other?”

“Philosophy class,” Henry replied quickly.

“You made a friend while philosophizing? That's a first,” Basil said amusedly, more to himself than anything.

Dorian laughed with a sound so sweet, it made Basil feel guilty about sounding so bitter.

Henry just smiled and shrugged. “Hey, I can’t help it if I got a lot of brilliant ideas. Its like you and your art, Picasso, its gotta be shared with the world,” he said, 

“Picasso?” Dorian asked inquisitively.

Henry jabbed a thumb in Basil’s direction, “Yeah we got a bonafide artiste here. You gotta see some of his work,” he said as he fumbled for the sketchbook. 

Basil’s eyes widened “Oh please no,” he said, as Henry pulled it out of his hands and put it in Dorian’s.

Basil thought he was going to die from embarrassment. Dorian was flipping through a book that contained little but sketch upon sketch of his own face. 

Dorian’s eyebrows raised, “This is good,” he said, quietly. “Like really, really good. You’re amazing” he looked at Basil in bewilderment. “Are you an art major? You should be!”

“N-no, statistics actually,” He said bashfully. “I never thought any of my stuff was any good, I just did it for myself, really”

“I love it,” he said quietly. “I love this one especially,” he said, his fingers grazing across the sketch of Achilles and Patroclus. “You really have a gift”

Basil didn’t know what to say. “Thank you.” He uttered, quietly. “I appreciate it.”

“Just telling the truth,” Dorian said conscientiously. There was something about the look in his eyes that for a brief second made thoughts in the secret darkness of Basil’s mind flit to the light of the surface. For a moment, the image of Dorian as Achilles seemed less like an abstract fantasy and more real; a dream that he could hold, something he could believe. 

But the moment passed. Dorian’s face fell. “Sorry, I have to get back to work, but it was so very nice to see you both,” he said, nodding curtly to both Henry and Basil and turning to walk away.

“Bye, man. Text me about that essay, ok?” Henry called after him. Dorian, who had already started towards his desk, turned back slightly and gave a thumbs up.

Basil looked at the sketch of Achilles and Patroclus that Dorian had praised and something about it had shifted. Achilles’ face, before effortlessly open, had something a little more guarded in the expression, but the feeling behind the eyes was no less soft. If anything, it somehow looked more like the man who inspired him.

Henry looked down at the sketch again and his eyes widened comically. “Basil, oh my god!” he gasped, far louder than one should in a library,

“It’s him!”


End file.
